


motion sickness

by yosoyritmo



Series: original poetry [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Choking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Poetry, i dunno what the FUCK this is but it's gross, i was stoned when i wrote this, the blood isn't, the gore is hypothetical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yosoyritmo/pseuds/yosoyritmo





	motion sickness

**motion sickness  
  
**

it doesn't always go like this  
but i never really had much  
room to care when you had me  
straddled over your thighs,

keening

and far too aware of the infernal  
heat in the space between us  
because the heavy air in the  
pitch darkness of your room

swallowed,

swallowed me whole as you  
sucked my soul out of my  
throat like a sterile needle.  
i don't know why your breath was

cold,

why you bit my mouth so  
hungrily just to draw blood,  
but it didn't stop me from  
doing the same to you because

revenge

runs down my chin like the  
foam in the mouth of a rabid dog,  
like the ichor that spills from  
between your thighs and the

blood

you spat back at me.  
i know there's no excuse  
for this but with every grind  
of your cock against mine

nothing

can stop me from grasping  
your neck with both hands,  
digging my thumbs into your  
arteries and watching the blood

drain

from your face and you look  
so beautiful with your mouth  
slack and gasping like this.  
i avoid your windpipe but you

breathe

like there's cobwebs in your  
lungs, like i’m the only thing  
in the world giving air to you  
so i press down harder, harder,

harder.

we make a point not to be tender  
whenever we do this, it doesn't  
make it weird, yet still now i  
cover your mouth with mine and

steal

every last breath of yours,  
but this isn't petty theft—  
this is neither a game nor  
a war, this is me taking what's

mine.

i know enough about you to  
know you keep a hunting knife  
strapped to your ankle, but you  
do not reach for it. instead you

grab

my hair and yank my head back,  
weakened by your empty lungs  
but hard enough to make  
the muscles in my neck

scream

and i laugh, release your throat  
and drink in every delicious  
gasp and groan you let slip.  
you growl and call me

_bastard_

so i spit in your mouth  
before you can close it,  
and your words turn to  
glass in your mouth, so i

smile

and your hips surge forward  
when i lick the bloodstained  
spit-slick from your chin.  
it's a far cry from when you

leave

me soiled, sweat-sticky and  
come-splattered while you  
clean up in the shower, but  
is this cleaning or simply

marking

my territory, leaving my  
mark on you because i know  
you won't wipe your chin?  
you'd sit there and let my saliva

dry

because you are sick,  
and if i asked very nicely  
you would probably let me  
reach inside you and

pull

and twist and tug on your  
viscera, ripping out each  
entrail and laying them out  
in neat little rows, monstrous

mementos.

i could carve my name into  
your marrow, or perhaps  
you'd want a piece of me  
instead. you could try to

tear

a chunk out of me  
from anywhere you pleased  
and i wouldn't mind because  
you'd tuck it away safely,

wrapped

in a bed of your own sinew  
where nothing else could  
move it, untouchable like  
ourselves, too sickening to

sunder

because we are demonic—  
filthy and savage and begging  
to be bound before we slip back  
into shadow. but we don't have that

luxury

so for now i'll settle for  
dragging this out, taunting  
with an agonizing pace far too  
teasing for the roughness of

teeth

cutting through skin,  
making you crazy with how  
easily i could settle this  
by just shifting enough to

sink

onto your cock, and let you  
fill me up so you could bring  
the heavens crashing down  
to an infinitesimal point, a

singularity

at my very core where all  
perceivable matter turns  
to pure, selfish pleasure.  
so i suggest to you, and you

alone:

 _give your heart to me_  
_belong to me_  
these beast hearts of ours  
are worn and overworked,

disgusting,

and nobody in their right mind  
would ever dare to  
drive their scalpel past  
our brittle, yellowing ribs and

open

us up to see if there's anything  
under there worth making  
tame. let them see our splinters  
and go running from the

horror.

i know how much you need this,  
not so much a give and take  
as it is a mutual life-leeching  
so let me bite that lip again,

 _honey_.


End file.
